Austin, Texas – Miles' Apartment
Skye hesitated at the door. The paint was peeling, the alley reeked of warm garbage, and her own reflection in the dusty window seemed smaller somehow—younger. More naive.
She hadn’t seen Miles in months, not since she left him and started chasing whispers about her parents on SHIELD. Back then, she thought he was just another hacker. Brilliant, sure, but rough around the edges. She never called it what it was.
As she raised her fist to knock, she hesitated.
"You’re not that girl anymore," she whispered under her breath.
Except… maybe she still was.
Skye taps the door lightly—three quick knocks, like they used to do. Her fingers trembled. She told herself it was just nerves. Just the mission. But her body knew better.
The door opened, creaking slowly on its hinges.
There he was.
He pulled the door wider. His silhouette was framed in the fading orange light behind him. Tall. Relaxed. That same glint in his eyes that used to pull her in — but now it made her flinch.
He was shirtless, like always. She noticed absently that he’d grown a little stubble. That smirk hadn’t changed at all.
“Damn. You look good.” His gaze traveled down her body. “You always did.”
“Miles,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“You finally decided to crawl back to me?”
“I’m not crawling,” she said, even though she knew the power was already tilting toward him. “I’m here to talk to you.”
“You’re always talking, Skye,” he said. “I liked it better when you used your mouth for other things.”
She froze.
He stepped aside, letting her in. “Come in.”
She didn’t want to. Every instinct screamed no. But she did it anyway—for innocent people, she told herself. For Coulson. For the mission.
The room was dimly lit, filled with wires, blinking monitors, and half-eaten takeout. It smelled like sweat and energy drinks and something more sour—something rotten. It was familiar in a way that made her skin crawl.
He dropped onto the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Come on, don’t be shy. Still pretending to be one of the suits?”
“I’m not with them,” she said. “ I just want to know the truth. I need to know if you’re just selling secrets, or you’re on in it, helping someone who wants to hurt people.”
He laughed, sharp and dry. “And you think I’d tell you if I was?”
“Miles—”
“Cut the bullshit, Skye. You wouldn’t be here unless you needed something.”
She bit her lip. “Do you know you’re helping to hurt innocent people with the secrets you sold?”
He smiled, slow and smug. “Maybe.”
“Miles, people could get hurt—”
Miles chuckled, leaned back, and spread his arms along the top of the couch like a king on his throne. “SHIELD’s got you brainwashed already, huh? What, you came here undercover or something? Trying to seduce the truth out of me like old times?”
Her stomach turned. “Just tell me who you’re working with. If you’re going to hurt people.”
He tilted his head. “What does it matter to you?”
“Because people could get hurt,” she said, more firmly. “ Innocent people.”
He laughed again, bitter this time. “Innocent? You think SHIELD’s innocent? Come on, Skye. Don’t act like you’re not still the same scared little girl looking for mommy and daddy through firewalls. They’re using you.”
Skye clenched her fists. “That’s not what this is.”
He stood and stepped closer.
She didn’t move.
“You came here for a reason. And it wasn’t just to ask questions,” he said, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. “You need me. You always did.”
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not true.”
But he was already closing the distance, his hands on her hips. “You owe me. After everything I did for you? I taught you, protected you, and gave you a place when no one else would.”
Her voice trembled. “You used me.”
His expression darkened. “Careful.”
She flinched.
And that was it. He saw it—the fear—and his mouth curved upward. The kind of smile that left bruises.
“You’re just scared because you know I’m right. You're here because you need something, but I'm not your little search engine. You want information?” He paused, voice dropping lower. “Then you’ll give me what I want first. Just like before.”
Her stomach turned. “Miles—”
“Don’t act surprised,” he said, walking closer. “I’m just reminding you what it costs to get what you want.”
Don’t make me remind you what you owe.”
“I don’t owe you—”
His hand slammed against the wall beside her head. She flinched so hard she almost fell.
“I know you want information. You want me to cooperate? Then prove you still belong here.”
“No,” she said. Quiet but firm.
He leaned in. Closer. Too close.
Skye tried to push him back, but he caught her wrists hard, and his mouth was against her ear, voice like a venomous whisper.
But her body didn’t move. Her feet didn’t step back. Her breath caught in her throat, stuck behind the same fear that used to keep her silent in this very room.
He squeezed her wrist tighter. “You always say no before you say yes. Don’t pretend this is new.”
“I mean it, Miles.” Her voice cracked. “I’m not that girl anymore.”
“You keep saying that,” he said, smiling like it was some inside joke. “But here you are. In my apartment. Knocking with our little knock. Wearing that same jacket I bought you—”
“I didn’t wear this for you,” she snapped, trying to yank her hand away.
He didn’t let go.
“You could’ve told SHIELD everything. You could’ve had them knock down my door.” His tone dropped. “But you didn’t. You came alone. Why?”
She stared at him, jaw tight.
“You still want me,” he said softly, dangerously. “Even if you hate yourself for it.”
“I don’t,” she said, but it was too late. He was already twisting her silence into something he could use. That was how it always went. He didn’t need truth—just control.
And she was still here, wasn’t she?
“I’m not playing this game,” she said. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll leave.”
He stared at her like a lion stares at something already dying. “You want something from me?” he said, voice turning to ice. “Then get on your knees and ask nicely.”
Skye didn’t move.
The moment stretched, brittle and shaking.
And Miles… Miles with his threats disguised as invitations. His voice like barbed wire. His love like a chokehold.
“Come on, just like old times, babe,” he said, brushing her hair back. “That’s all.”
She couldn’t speak. Every instinct screamed to get out—but she didn’t. Maybe it was the fear, maybe it was guilt, maybe it was the fact that somewhere inside her, a younger version still thought she deserved this.
She didn’t remember saying “okay.” She didn’t remember nodding or agreeing. But somehow, she was in his room, on his bed, and he was touching her like it meant something.
And the whole time, she felt numb.
Her body went still.
She didn’t cry. Not then. She just disconnected.
Like she always did.
She let it happen because the alternative—his rage, his threats, what he’d do if she told him no —felt worse.
✦✦✦✦
Later
She felt cold.
The bed was rough against her skin, and her clothes were scattered on the floor like evidence. Miles was typing at his computer, humming like everything was normal.
She pulled the sheet tighter around her.
“Still tense?” he asked, glancing back. “Relax. You used to love this.”
She didn’t answer. Her nails dug into her palms.
“You came here, Skye. Don’t act like I forced you.”
Her throat tightened. You did.
She tried to dress without reacting, but her hands shook. Her body ached in familiar places, a dull reminder of everything she’d tried to forget. He rarely hit her. That would’ve made it easier to name. What he did was harder to explain. His control was in the way he smiled, the way he twisted things until up was down, until she thought maybe she was the one at fault.
“You’re lucky I’m not angrier,” he said. “You left me high and dry. And I still let you in. Still gave you what you came for.”
Skye blinked hard, willing herself not to cry. She felt like she was 17 again. Trapped in that shitty apartment. Desperate to prove she mattered to someone.
Then the front door burst open.
“Hands where I can see them!” May’s voice sliced through the room.
Skye flinched. She scrambled to grab her shirt, eyes wide, body coiled with shame. Miles stood up slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Then he glances at Skye. “Didn’t know you brought backup.”
“I wasn’t—” she started, but her voice died in her throat.
May strode across the room without hesitation, clamped cuffs around Miles’ wrists, then turned to Skye.
She hesitated.
Her eyes softened for half a second.
Then she held out a pair of cuffs.
“You’re coming too.”
✦✦✦✦
On the Bus – Interrogation Room
Skye didn’t speak.
She sat across from Miles, her face pale and expression unreadable. She stared at the table like it held all the answers she didn’t want to hear.
“You look like shit,” he said, then added with a smirk, “Not in the hot way.”
Still, she didn’t look up.
His eyes flicked to the mirrored glass—to the camera watching from above.
Then he smiled.
"Yo, Agent suit types," he said, loud and lazy, waving a hand at the glass. "You mind giving us a minute? Just me and my girl. Promise I won’t break her too bad."
Skye flinched.
He tilted his head. “Privacy, right? You wouldn’t want to violate someone’s civil rights. Isn’t that your whole thing?”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then— click . The camera light went off.
Skye’s breath caught, suddenly very aware that she’s alone in a locked room with him.
He leaned in, voice low. “There she is. SHIELD’s little golden girl.”
She said nothing.
“You still shaking?” he asked, tapping the table with two fingers like a beat. “You always did that after. I used to think it was kind of cute.”
Her stomach twisted.
Miles leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You know they think you warned me, right? That you were playing them this whole time.”
Still nothing.
He leaned closer. “You didn’t tell them, did you?”
Her fingers curled into fists beneath the table.
“That’s what I like about you,” he said softly. “You keep secrets. Even when it hurts.”
Skye’s eyes snapped up, jaw clenched.
“There it is.” He grinned. “That fire. Still in there somewhere. Just buried under all that shame.”
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she said quietly.
“Oh, babe,” he said. “I always talked to you like that. You just used to pretend it meant something.”
Her voice shook. “I didn’t pretend. I just didn’t know what you were.”
He laughed. “What I am is the guy who taught you how to survive. How to be useful. Before SHIELD found you, you were nobody. Just a scared little orphan begging for scraps on message boards. Remember that?”
She looked away.
“You owe me. For everything,” he whispered.
“I don’t owe you anything .”
He slammed his palm on the table, fast and loud. Skye jumped.
Miles smirk seeing Skye’s reaction, thrilled to know he still have that effect on her. “You think this little act’s gonna work on them? The silent victim thing? Please. They already think you’re guilty. You’re just trying to play the right kind of sad so they let you stay.”
“I didn’t help you,” she snapped.
“Didn’t need you to,” he shrugged. “All I needed was for you to shut up and lie there. Like always.”
Skye’s nails dug into her palms. She was trying to dissociate—pull herself away from her body, from the memory of his hands, from the way she’d stopped fighting.
He leaned forward again. “You think they’ll protect you? You think the big brother is on your side? They’re using you, Skye. Just like I did. You’re not one of them. You’re not even a hacker anymore. You’re just a tool.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, voice trembling.
“No,” he said, smiling. “I’m the only one who ever wasn’t .”
She looked up at him, eyes shining with something between rage and ruin. Her face was pale, her lips dry. But she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.
He nodded, satisfied. “Good girl. Stay quiet. That’s all you’re good at anyway.”
The door creaked open suddenly, and May stepped in, her arms crossed, eyes sharp.
The camera blinked back on at that exact moment, red light glowing steady again.
Miles immediately straightened, flashing his best ‘innocent’ grin. “Agent May,” he said, smooth as ever. “Just catching up with an old flame.”
May didn’t respond. She looked directly at Skye. And something shifted in her expression—barely a crack in the armor, but it was there.
Skye looked… pale. Sweating. Hands twitching slightly. There was a tremble in her lip she couldn’t control. Her posture had shrunk inward even more. It wasn’t just guilt. It was something deeper.
Something darker.
May’s eyes flicked briefly to Miles, then back to Skye. “You’re done here,” she said to him. “Plane lands in Hong Kong in ten. Get ready.”
Miles just smirked. “Already? But I was just starting to catch up with my girl.”
“She’s not your anything,” May said coldly, grabbing him by the arm.
May walked over to Skye’s chair but didn’t touch her. “You coming?” she asked, calm but firm.
Skye hesitated. Her knees wobbled as she stood. She moved too fast, like prey flinching from a predator. May clocked it instantly. That kind of fear wasn’t guilt. That was trauma.
Skye stumbled slightly, and May instinctively reached out—not quite a grab, more of a stabilizing gesture. Even that made Skye flinch.
Miles saw it and smiled.
“Looks like I still have an effect on her,” he said lightly.
May’s hand shot out in a blur and slammed his face into the table with a satisfying crack . He yelped in pain.
She leaned down, voice calm. “Say one more word, and I will personally show you how SHIELD handles people like you.”
Miles shut up.
Skye was already out the door, her arms wrapped around herself like armor.
May followed close behind, a few steps back, silent. Watching. Thinking.
Something wasn’t right.
✦✦✦✦
Hours Later – Coulson’s Office
The jet was quiet.
Skye walked into Coulson’s office when summoned, arms still crossed over her stomach.
She sat across from him, the walls feeling too tight, her skin too raw. Coulson stood by the desk with something in his hand.
“I’m putting you under supervision,” he said. “This bracelet will limit your access to SHIELD systems. No internet. No hacking. No exceptions.”
She didn’t fight it. She barely nodded.
“I trusted you, Skye.”
“I know,” she said, voice barely a breath. “And I…I want to earn that trust back.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why did you go alone? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She was silent.
“I think there’s something you’re not saying,” Coulson added.
“I went to see Miles because I thought—” her voice cracked. “I thought he might listen to me. Because of our history. I was wrong.”
Coulson stepped forward, gently setting the bracelet on the desk.
“Is there something else?” he asked, quieter.
Skye didn’t lift her head but she handed him a USB.
“This is all I got about me,” she said. “I found a redacted file about me and my family. It’s about my parents. I want to know who I am and that’s why I got on SHIELD’s radar. That’s the truth.”
He watched her for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly and picked up the USB she had given and then pushed the bracelet to her.
“This will stay on until we can trust each other again,” he said.
She stood. Didn’t protest. Let him clasp it around her wrist.
Then she left his office with her head bowed, arms around herself like she was holding something in.
She passed Ward in the hallway. He muttered something under his breath.
“Should’ve known she’d crack.”
Fitz gave her a hesitant glance, like he wasn’t sure if he should follow Ward or not.
Jemma frowned. “Maybe she just feels guilty.”
“Guess she’s feeling guilty,” Ward muttered as she passed. “Tried to warn the guy off and got caught mid-missionary.”
Fitz gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Seriously, she jeopardized the whole op. You think she was just ‘talking’ to him?”
“She’s not the type to betray us.” Jemma said softly, folding her arms.
“People change,” Ward replied. “Especially when their loyalty is split.”
“I don’t think she’s doing so great,” Jemma said quietly.
“She made her bed,” Ward snapped. “Now she gets to lie in it.”
Fitz shifted uncomfortably but didn’t disagree.
No one knew the truth.
Not yet.
Not until Skye shut her door, collapsed onto her bunk, and curled up tight like she could hold herself together with just her arms.
✦✦✦✦
Two Days Later
Skye didn’t come out of her room.
She hadn’t eaten. Not really. Sipped water when she remembered. Her stomach turned at the thought of food.
She’d taken the elastic from her hair and snapped it against her wrist until the skin was raw. That didn’t work. So she used her nails instead.
Tiny scratches up her thigh. Her ribs. Always where no one would see. Always just enough to feel something again.
She hadn’t cried. Not once.
Then came the knock.
“Skye? It’s me.” Jemma’s voice. Soft. Concerned. “Are you alright?”
Skye didn’t answer. Curled deeper into the blanket. A fortress made of shame and silence.
“I brought tea. I thought you might want to talk…”
Silence.
“Skye, please,” Jemma said. “I’m worried.”
Still nothing.
Not when Jemma knocked again. Not when she tried the handle.
Jemma stood there a moment longer, then sighed and walked away.
✦✦✦✦
Four Days Later
She hadn’t come out in four days.
In the past two days, her hand twitched toward her drawer.
Not for a phone. Not for her laptop.
But for something else.
The metal felt cold and familiar in her hand. A twisted form of comfort.
She stared at it.
Let the pain center her.
Let it feel real .
Just for a second.
Later that day, a different knock came. Firmer. Sharper.
“Open the door.”
It was May.
Still, Skye stayed silent.
“I’m not Jemma. I’m not going to wait forever.”
No answer.
“I will override the lock. Don’t make me.”
Still nothing.
“Three seconds.”
Skye sat up. Heart hammering.
She rushed to the door, fumbling with the handle, and opened it.
A soft click.
The door opened a crack.
Skye’s face was pale and blotchy, like she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were red. She had a hoodie on despite the heat of the plane, sleeves pulled down to her knuckles. She looked like she wanted to disappear.
May stepped in. The room was dark, thick with the smell of stale air and untouched food. A tray near the bed had a sandwich on it—still wrapped.
Skye backed away, arms folded across her stomach like she was bracing for impact.
May’s eyes moved over her. The hoodie. The trembling fingers. The weight loss is already showing in her face.
May’s expression didn’t change—but her eyes sharpened.
The sheets were messy but untouched.
The air smelled like antiseptic and metal.
A hoodie sleeve slipped back as Skye opened the door wider, and May saw it—raw lines of red on her forearm. Some new and some old. Not the first time.
And then—on the desk—a single gauze pad stained faintly pink.
May stepped inside and shut the door.
“What did he do to you?” May asked.
Skye blinked. Her lip trembled. She opened her mouth to lie, but nothing came out.
“I said—what did he do to you, Skye?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he hurt you?” May asked.
Skye didn’t speak.
“Skye. Look at me.”
Her eyes flicked up, then back down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
May’s voice softened. “Was it consensual?”
Skye flinched at the question. Her hands clenched at the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling them over her knuckles like they might protect her from the truth pressing in around her.
May’s voice stayed calm, level—like a steady anchor in a storm. “I need to know, Skye. Did he force you?”
Silence.
Skye shook her head slowly. “No. He didn’t…” Her voice cracked. “He didn’t force me. It wasn’t like that.”
May didn’t move. Not closer, not away. Just watched her with eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
“I thought I could convince him. That he’d help. But then he kissed me, and I didn’t want to, not really, but I didn’t say no either, because Miles is just like that and I didn’t know how to get out of it—” Skye's voice cracked.
She turned away, shoulders curled in like she was trying to disappear into herself.
“I didn’t say no,” she repeated, barely audible.
“That doesn’t mean it was yes,” May said. Calm. Even.
Skye stood with her back to her, one hand trembling as she dragged it down her face. Her voice, when it came again, was hoarse.
“That’s just… how he is.”
May was silent.
“I mean, that’s always how it’s been with Miles. He just… decides things. And then it’s like—like if I push back, I’m the one making it weird.”
She laughed a little. Bitter. Shaky. “He acts like I owe him. Because of the stuff he taught me. Because I was just this dumb girl living on the streets and he made me feel like I mattered.”
Her arms folded tighter, like she was wrapping herself up in the version of her that wasn’t coming apart.
“I didn’t even think, May. When I saw him again, it was like I just… dropped back into it. Into the patterns. Into who I was with him. Like muscle memory. Like I didn’t even get a say.”
May’s jaw tightened slightly, but her voice was quiet. “Skye. That isn’t consent. Consent isn’t the absence of ‘no.’ It’s the presence of ‘yes.’”
Skye opened her mouth to protest—reflex—but closed it again. The words wouldn’t come. Maybe for the first time, she didn’t have an excuse. She just had the weight of everything she didn’t want to feel pressing down on her chest like a vice.
“It didn’t feel like assault,” she said finally. “I let him kiss me. Because that’s what I used to do. And I didn’t realize I didn’t want it until it was already happening.”
She looked over her shoulder, meeting May’s eyes for the first time “Is that messed up? That I didn’t stop him? That I didn’t know how?”
May didn’t blink. “No.”
Skye’s voice cracked. “But I didn’t say no. I didn’t push him away. So I don’t get to—”
“You didn’t deserve it,” May said firmly. “You don’t owe him that. Not your silence. Not your body. Not permission just because it’s what he expected.”
Skye blinked fast, but her eyes brimmed anyway.
“He made me feel like it was my only choice,” she whispered. “Like I was already too far in. Like I’d come to him, so it meant I wanted that. And I believed it for a second. Because… that’s just how it’s always been. That’s what love looked like to me.”
Her knees shook. She sat down hard on the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves slipping slightly to reveal more of the raw red lines on her arms.
May stepped forward—only one step—but her voice gentled.
“That’s not love, Skye.”
Skye’s breath hitched. She didn’t cry, not really. Just stared down at the floor like if she focused hard enough, she could sink into it.
May knelt. Slowly. Not reaching. Just existing in Skye’s space like a quiet anchor.
“When someone trains you to believe pain is the price of affection, you stop questioning it,” May said. “You stop noticing the red flags because they’re normal . But they’re not.”
Skye’s eyes filled again.
“You can say it,” May said. “You can say it wasn’t okay.”
Skye opened her mouth, but the words stuck. She shook her head like a frightened child.
May didn’t push.
“I didn’t know how to fix it,” Skye whispered. “I didn’t know how to make the noise stop.”
She looked down again, ashamed.
“And the cuts?” she asked. “That’s how you tried to fix it?”
Skye didn’t answer at first. Her hand moved instinctively to cover the sleeve again, tugging it down like she could erase what May had already seen.
She nodded. Just once. Barely.
May exhaled slowly. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold. Didn’t pity. She just was—calm, grounded, unwavering.
“I don’t even know why I do it,” she whispered. “It’s not like I want to die. I just… I don’t want to be like this. I want it to stop. Just stop.”
May exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving Skye. “You’re not broken. You’re overwhelmed. And trying to survive the only way you know how.”
Skye laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Survival looks a lot like giving up these days.”
May finally reached out, slowly, offering her hand—but not forcing it. Just offering.
Skye stared at it. Then at May. Her throat worked, but nothing came out.
“I don’t deserve help,” she said after a long beat. “I lied to all of you. I messed everything up. Coulson can’t trust me. Ward won’t even look at me. Fitz and Simmons are just… awkward now. And I deserve that.”
“No,” May said simply. “You don’t.”
Skye blinked.
“You made a mistake,” May continued. “That doesn’t mean you deserve to be abandoned.”
“But I—”
“You wanted to help. You thought Miles could help us. You thought you could fix something on your own. And yeah, you got burned for it. But you tried. You didn’t betray us, Skye. You gambled on someone who didn’t deserve it.”
Skye’s throat clenched, and she looked at May like someone who had been underwater too long and was suddenly gasping for air.
“I thought you’d be mad at me,” she whispered.
“I am mad,” May said. “But not at you. I’m mad at the people who made you feel like this.”
Skye’s lower lip trembled again, and this time the tears fell.
“I don’t want to be broken,” she choked.
“You’re not,” May said, squeezing her hand. “You’re hurting. That’s not the same.”
Skye curled forward then, quietly and slowly, and May pulled her into a careful hug. The kind that didn’t demand anything, only offered stillness and space to break.
And Skye did break—silent tears into May’s shoulder, her whole body shivering from holding it all in too long.
May didn’t rush her. Didn’t offer platitudes. Just held her, steady as stone.
After a while, when the sobs had faded to hiccups, May spoke again—soft and careful.
“I need to look at your arm.”
Skye stiffened.
May didn’t push. “You don’t have to show me. But I can’t help if I don’t know how bad it is.”
After a long pause, Skye reached up and slowly tugged back the sleeve.
She took it in quietly: the inflamed lines across Skye’s forearm, some fresh and angry, others faded to scars. The skin was pink, irritated, some spots weeping slightly, bandages haphazardly stuck on top, like afterthoughts.
Skye couldn’t look at her.
“I didn’t go deep,” she said in a voice that wasn’t quite hers. “I just needed it to stop. Just enough to make it… quiet.”
May nodded once. “Is there more? Just your arm?”
Skye hesitated, then shook her head. “My thigh. A few on my ribs. That’s it. I didn’t—” Her voice caught. “I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” May said gently. “But that doesn’t mean you’re in trouble.”
Skye blinked hard, then looked away.
“It helped,” she whispered, like a confession. “For a minute, it helped.”
“I know,” May said, voice barely above a breath. “But it’s not the only way. And it’s not a failure to need something else.”
Silence again. Heavier this time. But Skye didn’t shrink. She stayed still. Listening.
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small med kit—always prepared. “Can I clean it properly?”
Skye hesitated. Then gave a tiny nod.
May moved slowly, carefully, as if any sudden motion might break the fragile calm that had settled over the room. She cleaned the wounds with practiced gentleness, applying antiseptic and fresh gauze. Her hands were steady. Her touch light.
Not a word passed between them as May worked. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t scold.
She just stayed.
And when it was done, she said gently. “I want you to give me what you’re using to cut yourself.”
Skye hesitated. Then she stood, slow and stiff, and opened the drawer. She reached in and brought out the small object—metal, sharp, familiar.
She stared at it for a moment.
Then placed it in May’s outstretched hand.
May closed her fingers over it without looking.
“I’ll sit with you for a while,” she said while pulling a blanket for Skye. “Just rest.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
Skye didn’t argue.
She laid back down slowly, curling on her side, and for the first time in days, she didn’t feel cold. Didn’t feel invisible.
May stayed silent, the way only someone who knew grief and pain could be silent—without needing to fill the space.
And when Skye finally fell asleep, the tears drying on her cheeks, May stayed right there in that chair.
Quiet. Present.